Cat Lovers' Delight and an Evening's MK Ultra Extravaganza

By Don Croft <>
September 9, 2004

It's amazing what one might learn by taking a simple walk in a small Western town at dusk. Ever since we moved to this neighborhood in the early summer Carol's been unable to feel safe at night walking even a few blocks because every time she walks onto a street after dusk, MKids and aggressive feds stalk her.

The houses here, including our quaint one, were mostly built in the 1920s or thereabout and the current owners are mostly devoted to keeping their landscaping beautiful and interesting, especially in the summer when most of them have flower gardens on the front lawns. One gets the sense that there are mostly academics and professionals around here and, in fact, in exchange for staying in this lovely furnished house, which has loads of fairies around it in the plants, flowers and trees, according to Carol (elementals love orgonite) we're paying our friend's mortgage while she's taking a year to teach at a university in Spain. Most of our stuff is in storage because we don't plan to stay around here after next spring and we didn't want to get too settled.

Our previous residence, a mile and a half from here on the edge of town, was at the end of a dead end street and was bordered on two sides by big meadows, so it was more secure in terms of surveillance-after a few months there, not even the CIA mobile stalkers and walking psychics would venture down our street because every time we heard a car or saw a walker we'd blast their socks off but, here, every time we even go out into the front yard a procession of MKid cars and walkers, peppered by ubiquitous fedmobiles, goes by after a few minutes. If I were the usual Pajama Man, I'd be tempted to ask, 'Why are they wasting our tax dollars this way?!' but of course tax dollars don't pay for anything at all and I don't pay taxes, anyway, so I don't personally care much about that, other than being determined to destroy the Federal Reserve Corporation, as any rational person should feel these days.

The FBI task force house, heavily gifted, is a couple of blocks away, of course, and we drive by there very often and give them the appropriate honks and hand gestures, so I guess intimidation attempts flow in both directions. I don't think the CIA keeps a house in town any more but they run dozens and dozens of MKids, who have a sort of reptilian ability to telepathically transmit intel to their handlers and otherwise automatically do the will of the CIA whenever induced.

Since no MKid draws a paycheck that's got to be pretty sweet for the CIA, though not if you consider the countless billions of dollars they have to spend just to keep thousands of MK Ultra washouts like me from developing a fruitful personal life after developing character issues (mind control programs fail to work on anyone who develops character and/or conscience by the time adolescence rolls around).

I suppose that after they murdered the first few thousand washouts in the early 1950s it became counterproductive to murder large numbers of white, middle class children and this was before 100,000 or so children were abducted in America each year by CIA-organized satanic and pedophile agencies. By the time I washed out in the early 1960s I was simply programmed to fail at everything I attempted in terms of livlihood and people were assigned to me to make sure that I didn't ever get a break or succeed, in spite of my obvious intelligence and raw talents. Of course I was loaded with brain parasites, as most people are, from a few courses in antibiotics but constant depression caused by brain parasites wouldn't have produced those results alone. Depression in combination with deep programming is pretty effective, though.

I was fifty years old before my life got fully on track (three years after I stopped the depression forever by killing off the parasites in a few minutes with my first zapper), rather than 25 or 30, and I'm not untypical of the washouts, according to what I've been learning in the past three years from massive email correspondence. Examples of men who obviously stayed in the program: Charles Manson, Bill Clinton, President Cujo, just about any Hollywood actor you could name, hoboes, university professors, deans and presidents, high and low clergy, janitors, burger flippers, environmentalists and other fake activist cadres, all corporate executives and backstabbers/climbers, Delta Force personnel, newage gurus, etc. If you're getting anything substantial from this article, you're very likely a washout from one or another Monarch program for boys and girls in North America or Europe. If this isn't in your background, you're likely to think I'm just making this up and that's okay, too.

You may know of some psychics who died of quick cancer, heart attack or other odd circumstances a few years ago during the international pogrom of 'non-cooperative' psychics by the CIA and MI6. Most psychics work for them now, either consciously or in a programmed way, hence the newage movement. The ones who died had character/conscience and had refused to work for the CIA/MI6, we believe. Most people, including psychics, don't have a lot of character or conscience, contrary to popular myth.

There are no gangs in this town, per se, which is evident by the complete absence of graffiti, and since we did our extensive satanic-site gifting last year one no longer even sees the previously-ubiquitous goths (youthful MKids/satanists) lurking in the little downtown area. The thing that seemed to put a stop to that was when we gifted the 8 mile highway between Moscow, Idaho and Pullman, Washington last fall (that abruptly ended the unbroken chain of monthly traffic murders along that stretch of well-maintained road) and also finished gifting the last of the satanic ritual sites, which Laozu Kelly located not long after we all drove the Vril Germans from the mansion nearby.

Carol still recognizes some of the previously black-garbed youths who used to show up at the next table to try to psychicly intimidate us whenever we visited our favorite lunch café but they no longer dress that way, nor are they any longer able to have any cogent social interaction with each other. One or two of them occasionally turn up on the periphery when we eat lunch there, though before we did the ritual sites three or four would show up, all dressed in black, and sit very close to us.

Sufficient orgonite in the environment apparently starts dissolving their programming/resolve right away, which is probably why the feds were so mad about our effort last night.

I have you at a little disadvantage, here, because ever since Carol and I got together four years ago I've relied on her telepathic ability to gather personal intel and our personal intel doesn't have a lot of value for anyone but ourselves and whomever might be working with us at the moment. As usual, I'm just sharing our subjective experience in hope that it will resonate with your own experience or hunches and may help you to be more observant and confident in your gifting efforts, at least.

For weeks, Carol had mentioned that she was sick and tired of having to walk in the middle of the street every time she felt like going to visit her friend, Linda, who has an apartment a few blocks away. Every time she left the house at dusk she was stalked by MKids on bikes, on foot and in cars, no matter how early or late it is. The weird traffic has seemed to increase, in fact, in the last month. For a telepath, you can imagine how creepy this is, since MKids are mostly unconscious of what they're doing due to the dissociative personality programming and their alleged thoughts are completely erratic, not focused on anything in particular, unlike the way ordinary teens' thoughts are, and that completely belies their obvious vigilance and determination on behalf of their handlers.

Last week, a new local friend came over and she and Carol made up around a hundred Towerbusters to start doing our and her parts of town. The other day, I camo-painted the ones we kept. Last evening we took 31 of them to do the route to Linda's place, then on toward the little downtown area (tossed some at the High School on the way) then the mile or so back to our house, though East City Park, which is dark and always loaded with lurking MKids whenever Carol walks past there. She tells me that the overriding feeling from them is their hope that she would walk through the park instead of around it so that they could murder or at least terrify her. I had finally talked her into taking along one of the nice, big switchblade knives that Sensei Dennie sent us and to keep the opened blade in plain sight. He sells these and other interesting personal devices, by the way, and you can reach him at

Unlike the Goths, who like to advertise their orientation, MKids here look just like any other high school kids. They're mostly clean cut, seem (probably are) fairly innocent and the only odd thing about their nighttime behavior is that they avoid lighted areas and stare blankly at you as you walk past. We often see them traveling through dark alleys rather than going about on the sidewalks, or they drive typical old but serviceable teenagers' cars but when you see one, you're going to see a lot of those cars and it's the same during the week as on the weekends, nor do they congregate around their parked cars the way ordinary teens do. The common feature in their surveillance technique seems to be a form of telepathy or hive mind, just like in the old science fiction B movies. I confess that it's the surreal quality of this gifting work that appeals the most to me, rather than the more obvious public service aspect.

Okay, now that I've suggested some attributes for you to watch for regarding this strange teen phenomenon, let me tell you about cats and gifting. About six blocks from our house, at the entrance to the alley where Linda's duplex carport is, there was a cat watching us approach. Carol said, 'He wants us to put a towerbuster there,' and I took the comment at face value and dutifully approached the cat. Just then an older MKId came into the street and lingered nearby. This one had stalked Carol from that spot one night when she came home from visiting Linda, so I blasted him as the cat led me to the appropriate gifting spot. Carol said the cat was scared and wanted to run but felt obliged to show me where to put the thing.

Lots of us pay attention to birds and wild animals when we're out gifting but until last night I'd never paid a lot of attention to domestic animals. John and Adele Kilroy were the first, as far as I know, to report the fact that pets often know better than we do where to put orgonite in the environment and a zapper customer of ours told me that her then-horse tried to eat an Earthpipe that was put within reach outside his corral.

These cats were giving Carol very clear telepathic instructions. I say, 'These cats,' because it happened four more times last night. I think they were discussing this among themselves 8).

In 1968-9 I was in the US Army in Germany and had an epiphany one wintery night while on guard duty at Gutleut Kaserne in Friedberg (Elvis Presley had occupied the same barracks ten years before I was there-the beautiful Kaserne was built by Belgian prisoners of war in the 1890s, by the way). There were about a hundred cats around me that night and they obviously had an intricate social structure and could communicate abstract thoughts to one another with a minimum of 'verbalization.' They didn't seem to mind that I was studying them in a way that most people don't and I suddenly knew that they were quite intelligent and aware.

That night, I fully I realized that the common view of the nature of intelligence is very skewed and that human intelligence is both vastly over-rated and misunderstood; even egotistical. Being married to a telepath who clearly reads animal as well as human minds has only confirmed and extended my appreciation for animal intelligence and even plant and mineral intelligence. My Indian friends know that all creation is intelligent, of course, which is probably why our orgonite devices seem to have consciousness--just an indicator that the matrix of the universe, itself (orgone) is conscious and has will. Thankfully, we're all orgone's friends ;-) and, more to the point, the occult/corporate world order are NOT orgone's friends or confidants. Dead orgone doesn't count, as it's merely parasitic, not a viable force in the universe.

We left the house around sunset in order to do a little shopping at the Moscow Food Co-op and gift the park in the dark on the way back. It was after we left the store that the fit hit the Shan, as they say. It's about five blocks from the Co-Op to East City Park and there was a constantly increasing stream of Mkids on bicycles, on foot and in cars, all of whom I blasted, as we got closer to the park. The CIA handlers started showing up in their cars and trucks within two blocks of the park. One of them was tracking us on foot but didn't stick around after I blasted her.

A block before we got to the park entrance (the park is two square blocks-the east-west blocks are quite long--and has a paved bike trail going diagonally through it) a fed in a pickup lingered at a stop sign and aimed a frequency device at us from ten feet away. I turned and stared the fellow down while blasting him and he drove away. I didn't feel his assault but Carol felt it a bit. I suppose that if she hadn't been wearing her Harmonic Protector it would have made her a little sick. Contrary to Agent Colonel Bearden's assessment of this trick weaponry, it's pretty underwhelming and more in line with the parasitic nature of this rotting world order rather than with their overstated predatory nature.

I did some pre-emptive blasting, this time simply through Carol, who was keyed into all the peekers by then, and by the time we got to the park there was nobody around except a half dozen MKids in the shadows in the park itself. The nice thing about gifting in pairs is that one may always distract the up-close watchers while the other one does the gifting. Carol stayed in the light with a weapon in her hand as I crisscrossed the park and buried the TBs. By the time we got to the end of the path there were three MKids on the sidewalk there, a steady procession of MKid cars at the four way stop at the intersection and a light plane flying back and forth, a few hundred feet directly overhead at about ¼
throttle. Carol got a view of the CIA pilot and he was wearing night goggles, frantic because nobody had seen where we put our gifts, in spite of the small crowd of hive-mind MKids in and around the park itself.

Right before we left the park, Carol and I sat on a bench to wait for the motorcade of frustrated peekers to move on past-we wanted to put a few TBs around on the private property bordering the north and west edges of the park and that had to be done in lighted areas. Even I could sense the frustration and wrath of the MKids' handlers and, of course, the inept FBI legbreakers who had shown up by then. These Homeland Security Abominations, all losers, usually show up after the fact, of course.

The six blocks back to the house was pretty uneventful except for the steady procession of feds and MKids in vehicles. I felt elated by our success/victory and was having fun walking to the curb from the shadows (there aren't nearly enough streetlights in the neighborhood) and casually blasting each one as he/she drove past us. When we got to the house, one of the frustrated and adrenalized FBI thugs in a huge pickup truck drove by with his bright lights on and revved his motor (adolescent-style loud muffler) a couple of times after I blasted him, then turned the corner on his way back to his FBI crackhouse a couple blocks away. Carol was watching and read his alleged mind. She said that when I showed up at the curb, the thug dearly wanted me to step out into the street so he could run over me with those big tires. Next time I'll have a little surprise for that overpaid, crewcutted cretin ;-)

One of the more interesting features of our work is that it's apparently helped the FBI and CIA, at least around here, to forget their generations-old murderous contest, since they both obviously hate us a lot more than they hate each other. At least, I don't think they're murdering each other here.

I don't feel subtle energy a whole lot, so when I do I give it a lot of personal credence. The ambience in this otherwise-lovely neighborhood felt pretty bad when we started the gifting run last evening but by the time we got home the neighborhood felt very nice. I knew we'd tipped the balance in our favor when we were sitting on the bench in the dark city park. If you pay attention, you'll feel that moment, too. Get familiar with and confident in it because this is one of the best confirmations. If a psychic lump like me can get that impression, I know you can, too.

Don Croft

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